


Coming Down

by Skylark



Series: SWAG 2016 [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Bondage, Clothed Sex, Drugged Sex, Gags, Magical Realism, Multiple Penetration, Musculature, Other, Plants, Prostate Milking, Size Kink, Tentacle Sex, Vines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6541510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daichi watches, torn between horror and fascination, as the vines slide up his legs. They snake obscene trails under his shorts, their outlines vivid beneath the fabric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Down

**Author's Note:**

> —[Original Prompt](https://referees.dreamwidth.org/3776.html?thread=356800#cmt356800)  
> —I tried to write magic realism and ended up with porn, oops  
> —I pulled a lot of inspiration from [this](http://this-puppy-flies-too.tumblr.com/post/124467492256/some-assorted-quick-tentacle-doodle-dump-under-the) (multiple fandoms and there's also blood and gore/entrails mixed in there, be warned please)

Daichi thought at first that it was beautiful, the way it bloomed only at night. 

That thought's a memory as vines drag him, gasping, to the floor. The air is thick with the scent of green growing things. The plant on his windowsill is still unfurling from a pot that seems laughably small now, boiling up and out of the soil in a way that defies physics and common sense. He doesn't know how he didn't realize it sooner: the way the petals of its single red flower pressed tight together every time he passed, as if begging for a kiss; the way it absorbed water and moonlight like a dying thing and yet never changed.

Daichi watches, torn between horror and fascination, as the vines slide up his legs. They snake obscene trails under his shorts, their outlines vivid beneath the fabric as they tie his legs together, calves to thighs, locking him in place. More vines lash across his wrists and curl around his forearms, twisting them behind his back until his spine curves like a drawn bow, displaying the prominence of his collarbone. 

He's fully clothed but it doesn't matter—the plant is touching him everywhere, curling around his waist, stroking careful and foreign across his chest, following the ticklish dip of his spine. He thrashes with all his strength but it has no effect except to make sweat stand across his skin, smearing green as it stains with chlorophyll. His ears fill with the soft hiss of his own clothes as he's ravaged beneath them, and he half-wishes it would just tear them off already, to stop taunting him with the threat of exposure and just _do_ it.

The vines tighten a little, biting into his skin, his bunched up muscles working as he continues to fight. He tries to shout for help, because it's ridiculous that he's being taken down like this by a freaky plant in his _own bedroom_ —but when he opens his mouth a thick vine slips between his teeth, pressing a heavy and silencing weight against his tongue.

Daichi's eyes darken with impatience. He bites down but then he recoils, instantly regretting it. A sharp, bitter taste floods his mouth, making him shudder and cough, but he can't force the vine from his mouth. His eyes water as he pants through his nose, his throat working around a reluctant swallow just to rid himself of the taste.

All the while, the vines continue their slow conquest of Daichi's skin. His strong thighs are covered in green now, and held apart like an offering. Vines curl across his neck and nudge his chin up so that he's staring, eyes blurry, at the ceiling. The taste in his mouth is changing to a suffuse sweetness that soaks into his tongue, spreading through his body. Daichi's breathing comes slower, deeper, feeling his limbs relax without thought. He swallows again, feeling faint greed flicker at the edges of his mind.

He's glad for the makeshift gag in his mouth, now, when he moans at the feel of tendrils coiling around his leaking cock. The vines pull him down onto his back, on the floor. His chest expands with shaky breaths, feeling dizzy with oxygen. Vines slide into the divots between his ribs as if he was made for it—made for this, to be held down and conquered, inch by inch.

Daichi's hips shiver with abortive thrusts, fucking up into the clinging hold the vines have on him. He wants more than this.

When he gets it, the whine that spills from his occupied mouth sounds foreign to his own ears, distant. The same tendril brushes against his entrance again, gentle but insistent, slicking moisture around and then _in_. His hips jerk, thighs bunching with tension that's easily restrained. He can feel himself getting harder as another vine eases its way inside of him, and then another. Another. The shocked jerk of his hips brushes the head of his dick against the inside of his boxers, startling a whimper from his mouth.

He can't focus his eyes anymore, lost in the pressure against his tied-back arms and aching thighs, groaning at the endless push inside of him. He feels heavy and full between his legs, lit up from the inside. They twist inside of him, slick and frictionless. Everything feels wet, viscous fluid pearling on the vines as they curl tighter around him, grasping him from neck to knees. He groans, instinctively jerking away from the overwhelming stretch only to push his hips up into it in the next moment, searching for more. There's another shove inside of him and he forgets how to breathe, how to see.

There's so much sensation that his brain doesn't know what to do with it all. The ones inside him are thick enough to hit his prostate without trying, but they squirm each at their own pace. It's an arrythmic and formless shifting that has him arching his back, desperate. The ones on his dick, by contrast, squeeze and pulse around him at a set tempo, one too slow to do anything more than frustrate him. Everything is heat and pressure and it is not enough: on him and inside of him, in the slick swallows he pulls one after another down his throat.

His joints are starting to ache from their confinement but he doesn't care, he doesn't care, entirely distracted by the dimming friction against the head of his dick as he soaks through the fabric. He'd beg if he could find the words for it. Instead Daichi writhes, a whole-body plea, and finds that the vines have more give than before, loosened by his sweat and their own slickness. He uses the play to grind down against the vines, pushing them _there, right there_.

Each stroke against his prostate makes the damp spot on his clothes bleed wider until vines hook his shorts down, exposing him to the night air. Daichi pants, rocking restless against the floor, his jaw aching as his eyes roll back in his head, emptied of all resistance. It's so good. Every push edges him a little closer, until all he can do is shiver and gasp, trembling. 

Orgasm hits him in a slow and relentless wave, so intense it borders on painful. He comes hard across his belly and the vines that cover it, his stomach jerking taut with each pulse. His mouth sags open around a low, shuddering groan. It feels like being suspended in blinding pleasure for a long moment, like a held note.

\--

When Daichi wakes up the next morning it's to a burning all-over soreness from his overtaxed muscles. He squints at the light streaming through the window with eyes that still won't focus right. The floorboards are hard against his shoulderblades. He feels sluggish, exhausted, but heavy with a satisfaction that compels him to climb into his bed and tuck himself into the blankets, needing a few more hours' sleep.

The last thing he sees before his eyes blink shut again is the plant in its tiny terracotta pot, still there on his windowsill.

**Author's Note:**

> —Things I learned while writing this fic: it is very hard to describe ahegao with words


End file.
